


Possible in Dreams

by Caides



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Foursome - F/F/F/F, Lesbian Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caides/pseuds/Caides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vastra wants to give Jenny something special for her birthday...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****

**13 Paternoster Row  
London**

**_In the time of Queen Victoria..._ **

Jenny shivered, hugging herself in a futile bid to deny the cold. The gaslight flickered, but it would take a short while for the room to warm up. The sensation was all-too-familiar; long ago, in another life, she had spent many cold nights on the streets begging for scraps and trying to sell matches to disinterested passers-by, and she was now grateful for the turn her life had taken for the better since meeting Vastra.

The strange inhuman woman had rescued her from her distressing ordeal with the Tongs, had taken in that frightened fourteen-year-old girl and given her a purpose. Jenny smiled as she thought of her beloved, who just this very morning had awakened her with breakfast in bed and a declaration of love and devotion on this, the day of her birth.

The hour was five-and-twenty to eight in the evening, and they had just now returned from taking in a ballet at the former Covent Garden Theatre — now the Royal Opera House, as Jenny had to keep reminding herself.

The show had been a magnificent aural and visual feast, and Jenny had been particularly impressed with the athleticism involved in the movement of the dancers. She counted herself lucky that she now had the opportunity to sample such culture; this too she owed to Vastra. The Silurian, with her veiled visage, had attracted her share of attention — by now her wife and mistress had become accustomed to being regarded with suspicion and curiosity. While many had heard the fanciful tales of the mysterious and remarkable personage known as the 'Great Detective,' most didn't believe the stories of her being of some... 'otherworldly' extraction, attributing her reluctance to reveal her true countenance as simply the result of embarrassment due to a skin condition or physical deformity. To many, the Lizard Woman of Paternoster Row was nothing more than a fairytale.

Just as well, Jenny thought. The majority of people were simply not ready to discover the truth of what lay beyond — or beneath — their comforting little world.

She rubbed her hands together. The somewhat inclement weather outside was hardly unseasonal for the month of January, and was of the kind that usually managed to elicit a sense of despondency that she had to consciously fight not to let take hold. She had won that fight today.

Jenny was startled from her reverie by her lover's arms reaching around her waist. She closed her eyes and smiled contentedly. “Mmm...” she purred, running her hands over her lover's, feeling the abrasive constitution of her now gloveless scaled hands. “Strax...”

Vastra pulled away and regarded her beautiful wife curiously, blinking in confusion. “No, my love, it's me.”

Jenny chuckled, turning in her lover's arms to face her. “No, I mean he might come in at any moment. We should go upstairs.”

Vastra smiled and nodded in relieved understanding. “He isn't here. He has once again ventured to that awful place in Scotland, that he might 'engage in glorious combat with some feeble primitives!'.” Vastra took on Strax's manner and vocal inflections as she spoke, making Jenny giggle. 

“'For the glory of the great Sontaran Empire!'” she finished, doing her own impersonation of their diminutive companion.

“Of course,” Vastra chortled.

Jenny's smile faded, and her shoulders slumped. “He knew it was my birthday.”

Vastra frowned, and tilted her head sympathetically. “I'm afraid, my love, that I was unsuccessful in communicating to Strax the importance that humans place on celebrating the day of their birth. He seemed to think it boundless folly to commemorate a day one cannot possibly remember.”

Jenny harrumphed. “I'll be having a word with Humpty Dumpty when he gets back.”

“I would not judge him too harshly, my love,” Vastra advised, “after all, he was kind enough to perform our wedding ceremony despite his similar feelings toward the concept of marriage.”

“How could I forget?” Jenny sneered. “Mr. Jago thought he'd found his new travelling freak show...”

* * * *

“Do you, _boy_ , take this lizard to be your unlawfully wedded wife?” Strax spat vehemently.

Vastra and Jenny, whose eyes had hitherto been only for each other, turned slowly to regard their Sontaran 'friend'.

“Strax,” Vastra began, “Jenny is a _girl_ , and I do not believe this is an entirely authentic approximation of a human matrimonial — ”

“Who cares,” Jenny said under her breath, “it's not like it's legal anyway.” She inclined her head toward their two witnesses and smiled wanly. Noted theatre impresario Henry Gordon Jago had once been Vastra's employer; she had been the star attraction in his stage show, the “ _Monstre Gathering_ ”, in which she had been known as 'The Amazing Lizard Lady'. Now he and his good friend Professor George Litefoot — fellow associates of the Doctor's — sat in bewildered silence, looking distinctly pale.

“When you asked me to officiate,” Strax protested, “I took it upon myself to familiarise myself with all known human marriage customs. It was a most enlightening five minutes. I therefore feel I am entirely qualified to...”

“Strax,” Jenny interrupted, “just get on with it.”

“Silence... _girl_. You are to remain speechless until addressed directly.” He held up the book from which he was reading as if to reinforce his assertion. 

Jenny's glare spoke of death and daggers, and without averting her gaze from the Sontaran, she addressed the room pointedly; “I'm hungry, does anyone fancy a baked potato?”

Strax harrumphed, and opened his mouth to speak, but Vastra cut him off.

“I do,” she stated.

Strax and Jenny looked at her curiously. Vastra's eyes darted between them. 

“Not the potato...” she rolled her eyes and sighed. “I mean I _do_ take this... wonderful woman to be my wife.”

Jenny grinned, her heart warmed by Vastra's heartfelt declaration. Before Strax could speak, she stated, “I do too. I mean....” she chuckled, “I take this beautiful woman to be my wife.”

Their eyes met, and they beamed at each other with unadulterated joy.

Strax looked from Vastra to Jenny in confusion, before resigning himself to the fact that they had circumvented his role in the proceedings, and that his work was almost done. “Humph,” he declared gruffly, and muttered a few unintelligible words under his breath before continuing. “Then, by the power vested in me by the Great Sontaran Empire, I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the groom.”

As Vastra and Jenny shared their first kiss as a married couple, Litefoot shook his head grimly, not meeting his friend's gaze. “It's not right you know, Henry.”

Jago swallowed, his usually rosy-cheeked complexion decidedly pallid. “You can say that again,” he declared. “Marriage between two women; it's against all laws of God and nature.”

* * * *

 

Vastra continued;“If you were a member of a clone race that produces its young in a vat for the sole purpose of dying in glorious battle, you too would no doubt find the whole concept of celebrating one's life bewildering. Sontarans do not generally place the same value on life as we do.”

Jenny smiled at her. “We?” she parroted. “That's the first time I've heard you speak like one of us.”

Vastra expressed tenderness with a similar smile. “Perhaps I am becoming more... human,” she reflected. “An honorary one at least.”

“I suppose I just have that effect on you,” Jenny replied cheekily.

“Indeed you do, my love,” Vastra replied without irony or humour. Her demeanour then changed quickly, her expression becoming wistful.

Jenny had been about to kiss her beloved when she noticed the change in her aspect. “What's wrong?”

Vastra's eyes met hers once again. “I am not though, am I.”

“What?” Jenny asked.

“Human.”

Jenny cocked her head to one side and blinked in confusion.

“The more you make me feel so,” Vastra continued, “the more I realise that I am not like you.” 

Jenny deflated. She couldn't bear to see her beloved so dejected. “It doesn't matter,” she assured her. “You are to me; in every way that matters.”

“But do you not yearn for more... shall we say, 'normal' companionship?”

Jenny had never heard such self-doubt from her before. “What's 'normal'?”

“You know what I mean,” Vastra said quickly. “Your preferences in companionship have always been toward human women. Are there not ways in which you would prefer to be satisfied by...”

“Stop right there,” Jenny protested firmly. “I'm happy with you, you know that.”

Vastra smiled sincerely. “Of that, I have no doubt. But I would be happy to... I mean,” she faltered.

Jenny stared at her quizzically. “What?”

“I know you have often longed to feel the warmth of a human woman, the touch of human skin. To be able to give pleasure to another.”

Jenny's mouth opened involuntarily. “I...” she stammered.

“It's all right,” Vastra began, soothingly. “I understand.” She hoped that Jenny would recognise the truth of her statement.

Jenny composed herself. “I'm happy with you, my love,” she stated, pointedly using Vastra's customary term of endearment.

“I know,” Vastra reiterated. “But in a physical sense...” she trailed off, rethinking her approach. “Perhaps...” 

“What?” Jenny asked, frustrated with her lover's sudden inability to finish a sentence. 

“The birthday girl deserves a party,” Vastra said suddenly, standing tall and filled with conviction, her voice suddenly strong again.

Jenny blinked in surprise. “That would be nice, assuming I had any friends.” The only friends Jenny Flint had ever had had chosen to ostracise her due to her 'preferences in companionship.'

“Oh, but you do,” Vastra asserted with a twinkle in her eye. “Jenny; we're going to need a conference call. Fetch the candles, I'll send out the invitations.”

Jenny shivered, and this time not because of the cold. She swallowed hard, wondering what her beloved was up to. She eyed her with suspicion for a brief moment before replying. “Yes, ma'am.”

* * * *


	2. Chapter 2

**120 Years Later...**

Clara slumped down on the sofa in frustration. Once again, she had failed to perfect her mother's legendary soufflé. All the ingredients were there, but unfortunately it had collapsed quickly upon removal from the oven. She had enjoyed a brief period of success at the endeavour, but her most recent attempt had sadly been a return to form.

“So much for Soufflé Girl,” she muttered to herself. Artie had gone round to his friend Rob's house after school, ostensibly to do homework — though seeing as Rob was the boy who'd recently been bought a brand new games console for his birthday, Clara suspected that homework was far from being on the agenda — and Angie was off on another one of her walkabouts, though was most likely at Nina's. Their father was still at work, and wasn't due home for another hour or so. 

The Doctor was nowhere to be seen either, and she wondered whether her melancholia had more to do with loneliness than her lack of success with the soufflé. It was perhaps a strange admission, but a part of her missed the thrill of danger that her travels with the Doctor provided; real life seemed boring by comparison. Where were the terrifying monsters?! Why was she not spending her days running up and down corridors? It didn't feel right somehow, and she wondered when she would next hear that bizarre wheezing, groaning noise — which had always sounded to Clara like a cow in labour — and that blue box would materialise on her doorstep. He usually tended to show up on Wednesdays, and today was Monday — another reason to feel blue — so perhaps she wouldn't have too long to wait.

She had been thinking a lot lately about the possibility of joining the Time Lord on his travels full-time. At present she felt far too much responsibility for the children. They'd been through too much; like her, they had lost their mother, and she knew what that felt like. She had once claimed to Angie that she was not trying to be their mother, but she now doubted the veracity of that statement. She could never replace Mrs Maitland in their lives of course, nor would she ever try, but she could at least take over from her. No one had asked her to fill that role, but she had taken it upon herself to step in and support the family because it seemed like the decent, honourable thing to do. The fact that the kids often seemed to actively resent her presence didn't matter; it was the belief that one day they would realise the sacrifice she had made for them — that one day they would thank her — that made it all seem worthwhile.

She had been prepared to sacrifice herself for the Doctor on Trenzalore, by throwing herself into his time stream and splintering herself across time and space. In that moment, the children's welfare had weighed heavily on her mind, but she had denied the thought prominence, because she had to. The fate of the entire universe had been at stake, and if she hadn't done what she had done there would've been no future for the Maitland siblings, or anyone else, at all. So, she considered, in that sense maybe she had put them first after all. 

But she had been thinking mainly of the Doctor; that mad, wonderful, impossible man. 

She had been the Impossible Girl. Right from the beginning, they seemed to belong together. 

She was far from being the first young woman to travel with him (for it always seemed to be young women), but she felt that after everything they'd been through together, everything they'd shared, everything she'd seen of his past, that she had cultivated a place in his hearts that was more special than most.

Or maybe she was just flattering herself.

She heard the sound of letters hitting the doormat, and looked at her watch; 4:17pm. Yep, that was about right for the postal service these days. Bills, she thought. She knew they'd be bills. No one wrote to each other the old-fashioned way anymore. Modern technology had its value of course, but Clara enjoyed writing by hand, and it saddened her that calligraphy and letter-writing might become lost arts (not to mention the truly horrifying concept that books might one day disappear altogether — she had seen no evidence of that on her travels to the future, but frankly she was too scared to check). 

She made an effort to rise from the sofa and make her way to the front door. She picked up the mail and rifled through it. Sure enough; a couple of bills and a bank statement addressed to Mr. Maitland — it had taken a while for her to get used to calling him George, despite his insistence — and... a very old-looking letter the like of which she had seen once before.

Her address — 30 Oak Street, Chiswick — was written in exquisitely neat, and familiar, handwriting. Clara turned the letter over in her hand. Her heart skipped a beat; the last time she had received a letter like this it had been in the gravest of emergencies, and had ultimately led to Trenzalore. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to tear open the envelope and read the letter. 

 

_My dearest Clara_

_Please forgive my intrusion. Do not despair, the situation is not desperate. While I should like to think that the Doctor's good faith in entrusting me with your contact details was not misplaced, I have felt compelled to contact you once again despite the lack of emergency. This coming Sunday, January 14th 1893, my beloved Jenny is to celebrate her 26th birthday, and we would like very much to request the pleasure of your company in a “conference call” which will act as a social gathering. I have been led to believe that this is a time-honoured human tradition._

_Assuming you are willing and able to attend, please find and light the enclosed candle. As I explained in my previous summons, it will release a soporific which will induce a trance state, enabling direct communication across the years. Fear not; this time it will be your decision to join us at your discretion._

_Yours Sincerely,_

 

_Madame Vastra_

 

Clara breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at the timely irony of a hand-written letter from the nineteenth century arriving just as she had been lamenting the passing of the form. She thanked her lucky stars that it wasn't a case of 'be careful what you wish for.'

She stared at the letter, reading it over a few more times. She felt flattered and humbled that Vastra — she wondered whether Jenny was aware of this or if it was to be a Victorian surprise party — liked and trusted her enough to invite her to such an occasion. She was impressed and astounded at Vastra's ingenuity and calculated precision in communicating with her across more than a century — twice. She wondered how the lizard woman achieved the feat. 

After some deliberation she decided to wait until later in the evening to join the party, after she had dealt with her housekeeping duties and sorted out the kids' dinner. After all, the past wasn't going anywhere.

* * * *

Night had fallen, and Clara had told the rest of the household that she was going for an early night. She had thought about taking a relaxing bath and lighting the candle, but the prospect of turning up to Jenny's party naked was enough to put her off the idea — she could more than likely control her appearance in the dream-scape with a little concentration, but she wasn't taking any chances!

She had placed the candle on her bedside table, beside her treasured copy of _101 Places to See_. She struck a match and lit the candle, before lying down on her bed and making herself comfortable. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, centring herself. She began to feel consciousness slipping away as she inhaled the soporific, a pleasing scent she couldn't quite place.

In her mind's eye, she saw a jumble of images; the Doctor — all of him... The TARDIS... Angie and Artie... Sights, smells and sounds from this life and a thousand others rushed to the forefront of her conscious mind. She felt weightless, as if she were falling through space and time once again.

The sensation passed, and she felt a momentary disorientation, and for the briefest instant she felt frightened, for she knew not what was happening, where she was, or even who she was.

She 'landed' suddenly with a bump, feeling through her whole body as though she were returning suddenly to a gravitic environment. Her consciousness and sense of self returned to her, and when she opened her eyes she found herself sitting in a chair around a familiar pentagonal table. The rest of her surroundings were unfamiliar, and carried an eerie impression of unreality.

She appeared to be in some sort of grand nineteenth century office, or some place of administration. A large desk dominated the room, and Clara was struck by the beautifully ornate décor. Abruptly she realised that she wasn't alone, as her vision became fully focused on the setting and she became aware of two very recognisable figures seated opposite her.

Clara smiled at them.

“Dearest Clara,” Vastra said warmly. “We're so glad you could attend.”

Jenny greeted Clara with a tender smile, echoing her beloved wife's sentiment wordlessly.

“I wouldn't miss this for the world,” Clara replied, returning the couple's smiles. “Looks like I'm the first to arrive?”

Vastra and Jenny exchanged glances. “Indeed,” Vastra replied.

Clara nodded, then regarded the birthday girl with a fond grin. “Happy birthday, Jenny!”

“Thanks,” Jenny replied sincerely.

“I'd have got you a card but I'm not sure you can send them back in time. Not without a TARDIS anyway.”

Jenny chuckled. “That's OK.”

Clara was surprised that Jenny would want to return to this dream-world, given that the last time they had convened here it had resulted in her attempted murder; in fact, she had effectively died, albeit temporarily. “I'd have made you a cake too but it was a bit short-notice,” Clara continued. “Or, I don't suppose you'd fancy a soufflé? I'm good at those... sometimes.”

“I'll take you up on that one day!” Jenny beamed. She was genuinely glad to see Clara, and grateful to her for joining in with the celebration. Her joy was thankfully enough to mask the slight discomfort she felt after her near-death experience the last time she had entered this world. She still shuddered to think of it, and she had made sure to double-check every lock on every door in the house before lighting the candles.

Clara nodded, smiling. “So, is he coming?”

Neither Jenny or Vastra needed confirmation that Clara was referring to the Doctor. “I'm afraid not,” Vastra said, cutting off Jenny before the young woman could speak.

“Oh,” Clara said simply, blinking in surprise. She looked from Vastra to Jenny for an explanation.

“We have decided to keep this a strictly... female affair,” Vastra informed her.

Clara nodded slowly. “I see. Girls' night in. Fair enough.” She smiled again. Times weren't so different after all. “So, no Strax either then.” Then she added quickly, to clarify, “That was a statement, not a daft question.”

“Of course,” Vastra said, and Clara thought she noticed the hint of a smirk on the lizard woman's face. Vastra caught her lover's eye, and the pair exchanged coquettish smiles before Jenny looked away in seeming embarrassment. They reminded Clara of a pair of lovestruck teenagers, and she couldn't help but beam at them. 

“So, who else are we expecting?” Clara asked.

The question caught their attention, and their expressions changed almost imperceptibly, but Clara was certain she caught a hint of worry on Jenny's face. “Well...” the young woman began, then seemed to falter. 

“An old friend,” Vastra cut in quickly.

Clara looked from one to the other in nervous confusion. What was going on? What weren't they telling her? Before she could voice the question, Vastra spoke. “Would you like some tea?” With a wave of her hand, a tray appeared on the table out of thin air. On it was an ornate china teapot adorned with a pretty floral design, and four cups, indicating that they were awaiting the arrival of only one more guest.

“Can't we bring out the cake yet?” Jenny chimed in excitedly.

“Not yet, my love,” Vastra replied, as if she were admonishing a small child for her impatience. She then appeared to be distracted by something, inclining her head in a manner that reminded Clara of a dog listening out for something only it could hear. “Ah,” she said. “I think our final guest is about to arrive.”

As Clara opened her mouth to speak, the air around them was disturbed by a small whirlwind whipping up in the empty chair to her right. A flash of light blinded the trio momentarily, and when their vision adjusted the chair was now occupied by a beautiful but dishevelled-looking young woman in pyjamas and a pink dressing gown, who regarded them with distraction and suspicion.

Clara blinked in surprise at the newcomer. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, as if from another dream; her striking red hair flowed freely over her shoulders, adorning her long, slender frame. 

The woman beheld Clara blankly, but blinked in recognition when she noticed the other two figures present. “Madame Vastra... Jenny... Where am I?” She spoke with a distinct Scottish accent, discernible from only the few short words.

“Amy,” Vastra addressed her, fondly. “It's so _very_ good to see you again.” 

* * * *


	3. Chapter 3

_“Amy... help me,” the woman pleaded._

_She froze. Something inside her turned to ice. Amy turned to mark the embodiment of evil who had caused her so much pain. The frightened, shivering woman now cut a pathetic figure, her dignity in tatters._

_How the mighty had fallen._

_Amy's heartbeat echoed through her body, palpable rage and intense hatred permeating her entire being. Slowly, she took a few steps closer to the woman, and in her heart she knew what she would do._

_A strange ocean of calm washed over her, and she began to speak, her voice heavy with rancour. “You took my baby from me... and hurt her.”_

_The dread in the woman's eyes magnified a hundredfold as she saw the intent in Amy's own._

_“And now she's all grown up and she's fine,” Amy continued, “but I'll never see my baby again.”_

_The trembling woman spoke through her tears of terror, voicing her assertion that Amy would still save her, because he would, and Amy Pond would never do anything to disappoint her precious Doctor._

_“The Doctor is very precious to me, you're right,” Amy replied, ignoring Captain Williams' — Rory's — urgent call to get to safety, “but do you know what else he is, Madame Kovarian?” Her own voice sounded alien to her, as if some external force had assumed control of her body; it had taken on a distant, childlike quality that vanished quickly as she answered her own question. “Not here.”_

_The look of confusion evaporated from the woman's features, replaced by one of abject terror as Amy replaced her fallen Eye-Drive, in the knowledge that several hundred volts of electricity were about to course through it into her tormentor's body._

_“River Song didn't get it all from you... sweetie.”_

_Then Amelia Pond left Madame Kovarian to die._

The woman's agonized scream echoed as Amy opened her eyes. Immediately she closed them again as she always did, denying the awful reality of what she had done. It had been another reality, but reality nonetheless.

She had played those events over and over in her mind many times. The fact that that timeline had been negated, and in this reality Kovarian was still out there, didn't make her actions any less heart-wrenchingly difficult to bear. She often tried to console herself with the thought that the woman had torn her family apart, but the fact remained that she had murdered a defenceless woman in cold blood in an act of primal vengeance. When she closed her eyes, she saw first her beautiful baby, wrenched from her so cruelly, and then the face of the woman who had performed the deed.

River had tried to assure her that it didn't matter — the event had un-happened, and River was her beautiful baby, alive and well and returned to her, but it would never leave her. Who was she? What was she truly capable of? What had her experiences made her? 

What had the Doctor done to her?

No. It wasn't his fault. That wonderful, eccentric Raggedy Man had shown her so many amazing things, and the fact that there could be awful, horrible side effects to travelling with him was not something for which anyone could blame him directly. He was her best friend; she knew he loved her, and she loved him in return. Yet she couldn't confide in him, not about this. Nor anyone else for that matter; not even Rory. 

She suffered in silence.

Just having her beloved near her was enough, though. She turned over onto her side, to drape her arm over his sleeping form as she did every night, to feel his warmth, his closeness.

He wasn't there.

Her eyes snapped open, and she remembered.

Amy's vision clouded almost immediately as visceral memories returned to her, hitting her with the force of a thousand tidal waves. She caught her breath, and waged war against her tears. Her defiance was beaten down in an instant, and she was unable to stop the onslaught, her spirit breaking as she sobbed into her pillow.

Sleep eluded her now, and so when she had exhausted her tears and could cry no more, she decided to get up for a glass of water. The bedside clock read 2:50am, yet she would probably stay up for a while — maybe watch TV or read for a little bit — until she could no longer keep her eyes open. She had long since given up on ever getting a decent night's sleep; that hadn't happened since the first time she had encountered the Weeping Angels, and the myriad of monsters she had encountered since hadn't done wonders for her psyche. Although she couldn't consciously remember what the Silence looked like, the Sentinels of History certainly stalked her subconscious; these days she lived in constant fear of looking down and seeing those all-too-familiar tally marks on her hand.

Amy shivered.

She donned her dressing gown over her pyjamas and made her way downstairs to the kitchen, her mind racing. She debated whether to open the bottle of red wine in the fridge; she knew it wasn't a good idea to drink alone when feeling like this but right now she didn't care. As Amy reached the bottom step she noticed a letter on the doormat. She paid it no mind for a moment and continued to the kitchen, but then something inexplicably made her stop... and go back for it. She had picked up the post this morning — or rather, yesterday morning — and she didn't remember hearing the sound of the letterbox since then. Nevertheless, as she picked up the letter her curiosity grew, for it looked remarkably old, and the sender's address — 13 Paternoster Row — and her own were written in a very old-fashioned style of beautifully neat handwriting. 

“What the hell?” she said to herself quietly, turning it over to see the words 'Open When Alone' written on the seal.

Taking the letter into the kitchen as she opened it, she paused only to flick on the overhead light before taking the letter out of the envelope.

_My dearest Amy_

_I hope this letter finds you well. The Doctor entrusted me with your contact details in the event of an emergency, and while this certainly does not constitute as such I hope you will not object to my contacting you in this manner. This coming Sunday, January 14th 1893, my beloved Jenny is to celebrate her 26th birthday, and we would like very much to request the pleasure of your company in a “conference call” which will act as a social gathering. I have been led to believe that this is a time-honoured human tradition._

_Assuming you are willing and able to attend, please find and light the enclosed candle. It will release a soporific which will induce a trance state, enabling direct communication across the years. We hope very much to see you soon._

_Yours sincerely,_

 

_Madame Vastra_

 

Amy frowned. She had only met Vastra and Jenny once, at Demon's Run, and she owed both an enormous debt of gratitude. They had fought bravely against the Church and the Headless Monks to retrieve her daughter, but the battle had been in vain, and whatever the bastards had done to her had robbed her of her ability to give the love of her life the one thing he had always craved — and so she had been forced to give him up. She both admired and respected the lizard woman and her paramour, but any reminder of those events was too painful to bear.

She breathed deeply, letting out a long sigh. 

She sat down at the kitchen table and placed her head in her hands. The only sound was that of time slipping through her fingers as the tick of the wall-mounted clock echoed around the room.

Amy picked up the letter and read it again, failing to understand her compulsion to do so. She searched the envelope for the enclosed candle — the Victorian equivalent of an email attachment, she mused — and turned it over between her fingers. How the hell was this supposed to _work_ anyway? Time travel across 118 years in dreams? Vastra must have some sort of technology beyond the usual means of Victorian society, probably given to her by the Doctor. Why wasn't she contacting him and getting him to ferry her there in the TARDIS? Why contact her directly using what seemed to be such a convoluted method? She couldn't deny that she was intrigued.

Several minutes ticked by, before some inexplicable urge drove her to get up and go to the odds-and-sods drawer by the sink and rummage around for the box of matches she kept in there. Having found them she went back to the table and, without dwelling on what she was doing, lit the candle.

* * * *

“What is this place?” Amy asked again.

“You are sleeping,” Vastra replied, and indicated their surroundings. “This is a representation of the Hôtel de Ville in Paris, in the fourth arrondissement.” The building's reconstruction had been completed last year, twenty-one years after the blaze that had swept through and consumed its interior, leaving only an empty stone shell. “It is in actuality a dream-scape where we can communicate in a manner that would not otherwise be possible.” She had reasoned that a change in the façade would be prudent in light of Jenny's previous ordeal. 

Amy regarded the Silurian curiously. She was virtually identical to Alaya and Restac, and Amy experienced a momentary pang of unease and uncertainty. “So this is like a shared dream?”

“That is exactly what it is,” Vastra replied, “driven by our collective subconscious.” The lizard woman looked her up and down, noting her attire. “I do apologise if we caught you at an inopportune moment.”

Amy looked down at her dressing gown and pyjamas, and blushed. She gave a slight chuckle. “Don't worry,” she assured, “the Doctor first took me away in my nightie — I'm used to it.” Her expression changed then as another thought struck her. “Oh God, I have bed-hair!”

The two human women chuckled, and Amy took note that the unfamiliar young woman on her left was looking at her curiously, and had been since she had mentioned the Doctor.

Vastra and Jenny looked between the two women, then at each other. “I don't suppose you two have met,” Jenny said.

Without tearing her eyes away from the beautiful brunette, Amy answered, “No. No we haven't.”

The young woman blinked and shook her head almost imperceptibly, as if admonishing herself for staring. “Sorry,” she said quickly, and held out her hand. “I'm Clara.”

Amy nodded, and shook the woman's hand. “Amy.” 

Clara smiled faintly. “You know the Doctor?” she asked. “You've travelled with him?”

Amy's eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah.” She opened her mouth to continue, but Vastra interrupted.

“Amy is one of the Doctor's travelling companions from a different point in his timestream.”

A look of understanding showed on Clara's face. “Not his 'assistant' then,” she said after a moment, giving Vastra a knowing smile.

She spoke with a discernible Northern English accent — Lancashire, perhaps? Amy studied the woman's face intently, noting her cute little dimples and big, round brown eyes. She had seen visual records of all her preceding TARDIS inhabitants —Clara certainly struck her as typically beautiful for one of the Doctor's travelling companions — yet she couldn't recall the woman's face being amongst them, which suggested the possibility that Clara's time with the Doctor had yet to occur from her own perspective. She knew that the Doctor was currently — for her — in his eleventh incarnation, and that she herself was the first to travel with him in that persona. “Which Doctor?” she found herself asking.

Clara looked at her for a moment, debating whether to answer. She knew who this woman was now; Amy Pond, her immediate predecessor in the TARDIS. That meant that Clara had certain knowledge of Amy's future. The Doctor didn't like to talk about her or her husband — Rory, was it? — too much but he had explained her fate, and she knew she had to be careful not to give Amy any foreknowledge. “Well, I...” she faltered, wary of revealing too much information. “I probably shouldn't say too much.” She reasoned that Amy would likely have the same regard for the dangers of polluting the timeline as she did, and hoped that the woman would respect the situation and not ask too many questions.

Amy nodded slowly. “You're the next one aren't you,” she said, a solemn edge to her voice. “Well, some point after me, anyway.”

Clara paused before replying with a simple, “Yeah.”

Amy did her best impression of a smile. “Does he still wear the bow tie?”

Clara returned Amy's expression in kind. “Yeah... There's no telling him. I think it's just to draw attention from his chin.”

The women shared a giggle as Vastra spoke. “Well, it's good to see you two getting along. You know why I've asked you both here.”

“Yes!” Amy said suddenly, remembering. “Sorry Jenny, happy birthday.” 

“Thank you very much,” Jenny said with a warm smile. “I hope you like the new desktop.”

Clara gave her an amused frown. “OK, I have to ask, do you even know what a desktop is?”

Jenny's expression was one of mild embarrassment, and she shook her head.

“No matter,” Vastra interjected. “I think it's time for the cake.” 

Jenny smiled broadly. “At last!”

With a theatrical wave of her hand, Vastra summoned a delicious-looking birthday cake from the ether, which faded into view on the table before them. It appeared to Clara to be a sponge cake, and was frosted with icing and a few candles — it seemed that even in this dream world, a full twenty-six candles might well be a fire hazard. 

“That looks great!” Amy said. “What's in it?”

“Whatever you like,” Jenny replied with a wink, then with a conspiratorial whisper, added, “It's not real.”

“Whatever you like, my dear,” Vastra corrected.

“I used to make sponge cakes with my mum,” Clara said wistfully. “A layered sponge cake filled with raspberry jam and lemon curd, and finished with butter icing — her speciality.” She smiled at the memory. “That and her famous soufflé; the stuff of legend.” 

“Sounds gorgeous!” Jenny exclaimed. “Can we have that?”

Clara looked at her strangely for a moment, before realising that her subconscious mind was driving this illusion as much as any of the others'. “OK,” she beamed, and concentrated as hard as she could on summoning the memory.

“Think of the taste,” Vastra encouraged. “Really bring to mind the texture.”

“Got it,” Clara said, and her smile was infectious.

A knife materialised in Vastra's hand, which she used to cut into the cake. She issued a slice to each of the women, and Clara was astonished to find as she took a bite that it was indeed her mum's special cake, made every year without fail for her daughter's birthday until her untimely death.

“This is delicious!” Amy said as she enjoyed her slice. “Your mum's, like, the best cook!”

“Thanks,” Clara replied, putting on her best brave face as her eyes misted. She decided not to reveal that her mother was dead, for right now, in this world at this moment, she was as alive as Clara herself was.

“And,” Amy continued, “since this isn't real we can eat as much of this as we like and not have to worry about calories, right?”

“Hmm, imaginary cake...” Clara nodded. “Has its advantages.”

They spent the next half hour or so talking, drinking tea and champagne, finishing off the cake and celebrating Jenny's special day. They traded stories and answered each other's questions. Clara was intrigued to know why Vastra's Silurian breed shared so many common physical traits with humanity, and the woman explained that her people had long ago experimented with genetic manipulation in a bid to adapt to the changing world; the species had spent thousands of millennia underground in cryostasis, and was ultimately forced to turn to science to compensate for missing several million years of natural evolution. Given that Vastra therefore had at least some mammalian or primate DNA in her make-up, her relationship with Jenny suddenly didn't seem quite as far-fetched a concept as it once had, not to mention that it explained certain things — Clara had always wondered why a woman descended from lizards had mammary glands.

During the course of the conversation, Amy was surprised to hear Strax's name come up in the present tense, having believed him to have died at Demon's Run. Vastra and Jenny explained that they had used alien technology to resurrect him, despite his ingratitude owing to his hope of dying in glorious battle. Amy reasoned that if the Silurian woman had access to such technology, her ability to conjure up this whole charade was probably child's play. The image of Commander Strax as the duo's faithful butler and retainer amused her greatly, as did Vastra's account of how bar-brawling in Glasgow had become his new favourite pastime. “Yep, that's Scotland,” Amy said with mock weariness. “Nothing changes.”

Clara was equally astounded to learn of Amy's connection to River Song, almost spitting out her cake at the revelation. River was Amy's daughter?! The Doctor hadn't told her _that_. Yet Clara had known River as a much older woman than Amy. Time was a funny old thing. So, that made Amy the Doctor's...

“Mother-in-law?!” Clara blurted out suddenly, unable to hide her astonishment. “You're his mother-in-law?”

“Yes,” Amy pouted. “I know. Don't rub it in!”

Clara's face fell. Amy had spoken of her daughter as if she were alive... She shivered and denied the implications of what she had realised; Amy had no idea that her daughter was destined to die before her time. She consoled herself with the knowledge that at least River was to have some continued existence, in the form of information uploaded to the biggest Library in the universe, before willingly passing into non-existence, and that she had sacrificed her corporeal existence for the greater good. 

“Are you OK?” Amy asked, bringing Clara back to the present.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Sorry. Just daydreaming.”

“A dream within a dream,” Vastra observed, eliciting a half-smile from Clara that didn't meet her eyes.

“This is good champagne,” Amy opined, seeming to accept Clara's dismissive explanation.

“It is,” Jenny agreed. “This is from one of _my_ memories.”

“It _is_ good,” Clara agreed. “Can we get drunk on this?”

“If you wish,” Vastra clarified. “But the effects are easily dismissed.”

“This gets better,” Amy said with a smirk.

“Do you wish to get drunk?” Vastra asked.

“It's my favourite pastime at the moment...” Amy replied under her breath, suddenly seeming to become distracted. Vastra's quizzical expression drew a dismissive head shake. “Nothing,” she added. “Sorry. Bad time.” 

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Vastra replied.

“Maybe we should give the champagne a rest,” Jenny said quickly with a nervous chuckle.

“Better than real pain,” Amy said, then chortled at her own joke.

“Sorry?” Jenny asked, clearly confused.

“See what you did there,” Clara said, sipping her champagne. “Corny but clever.”

Vastra leaned closer to her wife. “21st Century humour, I shouldn't wonder.” 

Amy and Clara shared a knowing look and a smile that Jenny, if she didn't know them better, would have described as flirtatious. She watched as the pair began talking quietly, no doubt comparing notes on the Doctor, finding it difficult to avert her gaze. She felt Vastra's sweet, cool breath on her neck, as her wife leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Beautiful, aren't they,” she said, quietly enough to not be heard across the table. 

Jenny glanced at her beloved for just a moment.. “Yes,” she breathed. She became aware of Vastra joining her in observing them, the two women too engrossed in their conversation to notice. 

“Clara has the loveliest eyes, don't you think?”

“Why are you doing this?” Jenny asked, her voice a harsh whisper.

“What do you mean?” Vastra asked, feigning ignorance.

“You know what I mean!” Jenny whispered. “Why did you bring them here?”

“For you, my love,” Vastra admitted.

“I knew it.” Jenny's shoulders sagged. “I told you, I —”

“Everything OK over there?” Amy's voice punctured the atmosphere. 

“Yes, thank you,” Vastra assured, and Jenny was partially grateful for the interruption. She exhaled sharply as her wife continued to speak. 

“We were just discussing my full intentions in bringing you here.”

* * * *


	4. Chapter 4

Jenny's blood ran cold, and she let out a slight gasp at Vastra's honesty. Amy and Clara exchanged looks of confusion. 

“What do you mean?” Clara asked.

Before Jenny could summon the words, Vastra continued. “This beautiful woman,” she indicated Jenny, “represents the very best of your species. She is the light of my life, and has allowed me to experience what it is to be human. I love her with all my heart.” 

The three human women held her gaze, Amy and Clara seeming touched by her declaration of devotion, and Jenny almost overcome with emotion.

“But I am not human,” Vastra continued.“I am cold-blooded, and as such Jenny cannot know the love of a human being.”

Amy winced. She knew all-too-well the pain of not being able to give the one you love something they desire.

Clara noted Jenny's apparent mortification, the woman's cheeks aflame. She wondered with some trepidation where Vastra was going with this.

“It is my hope that you will —”

“Stop!” Jenny pleaded suddenly, her outburst startling the other women. “I told you, I'm happy with you! I don't need — ” 

“Wait,” Amy cut in, holding up her hand to silence Jenny, wanting to hear what Vastra had to say. “What is this? Why did you bring us here?”

“Oh my God...” Clara uttered, her disbelief plain for all to see as the slow drip of realisation began. “What were you trying to organise here, a party or an orgy?!”

Amy and Clara exchanged incredulous glances as Jenny buried her face in her hands.

“I-I'm sorry,” Vastra stammered, as flustered and contrite as Clara had ever seen her.

“Maybe it's time we woke up?” Amy suggested to Clara, standing up as she spoke.

For a moment, Clara was inclined to agree, but the thought occurred that Vastra was to blame for the deception, not the birthday girl — despite Jenny apparently having been consulted on the idea at some point. In any case, Clara wasn't quite ready to bid goodbye to Amy just yet. “Hold on, it's not Jenny's fault,” she pointed out.

Amy had to concede that point. She glanced at Jenny, who was avoiding Vastra's gaze, her own look of embarrassment having been replaced by one of thunderous annoyance. 

“Amy, Clara, please,” Vastra implored hurriedly before turning back to Jenny. “My love, forgive me. Perhaps I made a grave error in judgement, but do not judge me too harshly, for I had only your best interests at heart. This is a celebration of your life; let it not end this way.” She spoke soothingly, her voice measured.

Jenny breathed deeply, exhaling and releasing her anger and frustration with the breath. “All right,” she relented.

Vastra smiled with relief. “Thank you, my love.” She turned to the 21st Century girls. “Please stay.”

Clara and Amy glanced at each other, seeking each other's opinion. Wordlessly, they agreed.

Vastra nodded in appreciation. “Thank you. Amy, pray, sit down.”

Amy had been thinking. The talk of Jenny being unable to experience love with a human had sparked her intrigue, now that she was over the initial shock. She sat down slowly, watching Jenny and Vastra intently. 

An awkward silence filled the air, which Jenny attempted to fill as Clara picked up her champagne glass and began to swig the last of the beverage. “So... what shall we talk about?” 

“How _do_ you have sex?” Amy piped up. 

Clara spluttered on her champagne. Jenny and Vastra stared at the Scot in disbelief.

Amy's eyes darted between the three women. “I'm just curious,” she explained with a shrug.

Clara leaned closer to her and whispered; “I think we're supposed to be _changing_ the subject.”

“No, it's alright,” Jenny said. After what had just happened, she wanted the women — no, the _world_ — to know exactly how she was able to love her wife so completely. “I like the feel of her skin — well... scales.” She gave Vastra a tongue-in-cheek glance. “She's cool to the touch, but not too cold, and she does things with her tongue that —”

“OK!” Clara exclaimed, clapping her hands together with an awkward laugh. “This is... fascinating.” She chuckled nervously, heat rising in her cheeks.

“Would you care for a demonstration, my dear?” Vastra teased, unquestioningly grateful for Jenny's change of heart. 

The Silurian woman's eyes spoke of pure unadulterated lust, though Clara found it a little disconcerting to be the recipient. “Excuse me?” 

“I would,” Amy said brazenly. She noted Clara's questioning look. “Well, why not?” There was a noticeable twinkle in her eye.

Vastra caught Jenny's eye, and received a subtle nod of encouragement. “As you wish,” she said to Amy, calling her bluff. She stood up slowly, holding Amy's gaze, then turned and extended her gloved hand to Jenny, who took it and rose to her feet. Vastra led Jenny away from the table as if leading her onto a dance floor. The lizard woman moved around behind her lover and placed her arms around her waist. Jenny closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift away.

Clara's mouth hung open, as Amy's gaze fixed on the scene playing out before her. 

Jenny was wearing a black high-collared dress of a style typical of the 1890s. Its tight bodice clung to her and the skirt gathered at the waist, falling naturally over her legs. It flattered her figure far more than the clothing to which she had become accustomed while growing up. Vastra deftly unfastened and removed the dress, allowing it to fall to the floor, and Jenny stepped out of it. Her hourglass figure was maintained by a constricting overbust corset. Vastra worked quickly behind her to unlace and remove the garment, exposing her small round breasts. Jenny's posture stiffened as Vastra removed her last remaining undergarment, slipping the petticoat down over her legs and letting it fall to her feet.

Clara didn't know where to look, while Amy felt unable to avert her gaze, fixing her eyes on Jenny as if she were facing a Weeping Angel. Jenny's nude form was marred only by the indentations in her skin left by the corset, and the narrowing of the waist achieved by the garment was plain to see now that it had been removed. It was no wonder the fainting couch was invented, Amy thought. She noted that Jenny's breathing had grown heavy with her arousal, now that it was unrestricted. 

Clara's gaze finally settled on Jenny, the woman's eyes still closed apparently in an attempt to deny her increasingly attentive audience. She looked the Victorian woman up and down, her eyes following the length of her body as Vastra loosened her lover's hair and teased it with her fingers to fall down and cascade over her shoulders. Jenny's firm breasts hung tantalisingly, and as Vastra's hands caressed and manipulated them slowly and gracefully, her erect nipples betrayed her arousal. Her skin visibly broke out in goosebumps in response to her lover's touch, as Clara's gaze descended to the young woman's mound. The natural triangle of dense pubic hair, its delicate curl trimmed neatly, was a less common sight in Clara's time than in Jenny's, especially on women of their age, and she found herself unable to keep from gazing at it.

 _What am I doing?_ Clara wondered. She was ogling another woman standing naked before her, being caressed lovingly by a sentient bipedal lizard. She shook her head in disbelief at the surreality of the tableau before her, her own arousal increasing rapidly despite her attempt to suppress it. 

“Is this turning you on?” Amy whispered beside her.

Clara looked to the Scottish woman, and back to Jenny and Vastra, feeling her cheeks flush. “Um... sort of,” she admitted.

“Me too,” Amy said through the corner of her mouth, her eyes fixed on the scene.

“This is mad,” Clara said. “It's like watching a car crash; I don't want to look, but...”

“You're curious, it's only natural,” Amy said. “This is like nothing we've ever seen before; this is... live interspecies porn. It doesn't mean we're gay.”

“Right,” Clara replied, without a shred of conviction.

“You're not, though?” Amy asked, the thought now occurring to her.

“Gay? No,” Clara replied. “I mean, I've... dabbled.”

“Really?” Amy turned to her now.

Clara bit her lip, instantly regretting the admission. “Yeah. Just, you know, small stuff. Teenage experimental stuff... I was going through a phase.”

“We've all been there,” Amy chuckled. They watched the couple for a minute, Vastra now on her knees and planting small kisses up and down Jenny's torso, before Amy asked; “You don't feel like joining in then?”

“I don't know about that...” 

“Aren't you just a little bit curious?” Amy asked. “It's what she wanted...”

“Whoa, Nelly...” Clara began, but before she could continue, Vastra's tongue suddenly shot out of her mouth toward Jenny's womanhood, eliciting a shocked gasp from the young woman as her wife began pleasuring her orally... from half a metre away.

Their spectators recoiled sharply. Amy's eyes widened as Clara's jaw dropped. “Oh, that's just showing off,” she said finally.

“I am _so_ wet right now,” Amy revealed.

“Too much information,” Clara replied without missing a beat.

Amy bit her lip. “Yeah, sorry. Said that out loud there.” 

Without warning, Vastra's tongue retracted into her mouth as quickly as it had extended, causing Jenny to moan with displeasure. “Ladies,” she said, addressing the 21st Century women, “what do you think of my lovely wife?”

Jenny seemed to be in a daze, oblivious to their presence as she recovered from her lover's ministrations. 

“Um... amazing,” Amy said, unsure what else to say.

“Indeed,” Vastra nodded. “Clara?”

Clara searched for the right response before settling on; “Nice muff.”

Amy did her very best to suppress a chortle... and failed.

“I'm sorry?” Vastra asked, as Jenny's eyes opened and a look of utter confusion spread across her face.

Clara, her embarrassment growing by the second, looked between the two as Amy continued to giggle, covering her face with her hand. “I mean... It's... nice.”

“What, pray tell, is a _muff_?” Vastra asked.

Clara looked desperately to Amy, who folded her arms and returned her plea for help with a look of amused expectation that told her she was on her own. She sighed. “It's a slang term for a woman's pubic hair.”

Jenny blushed as Vastra nodded in understanding. “I see.” 

“Why do you call it that?” Jenny asked.

Clara looked to Amy again, and received even less help than before. “I'm... not exactly sure,” she said slowly. “But it's... nice. It really... suits you.” She cringed as Amy rolled her eyes.

“May we see yours?” Vastra asked, with all the politeness of a child asking for permission to leave the table.

“Excuse me?” Clara said again, not quite believing what she'd heard.

“She said she wants to see your muff,” Amy clarified, helpfully.

“I heard,” Clara snapped back, then faltered for a moment, her mortification building. She bit her lip indecisively before replying. “Um... I'd rather not.”

“Oh, come on!” Amy said gleefully. “Don't be shy!”

“You're really enjoying this aren't you,” Clara accused her.

Amy held up her hands in mock protest.

“Oh, please!” Jenny begged, shivering with anticipation.

Clara sighed, her cheeks glowing. “Is it warm in here?” she asked Amy with a nervous chuckle, before replying to Vastra. “There's really nothing to see. In our time, we don't tend to grow hair down there.”

Vastra blinked. “A curious evolutionary development...”

Amy chuckled at the growing absurdity of the conversation. “No, she means by choice. We shave, or wax, down there. It's just the fashion.”

As Vastra nodded in understanding, Jenny recoiled slightly, evidently trying to wrap her head around the notion. “So,” she looked from Clara to Amy, “you're like little girls down there?”

Now it was Amy's turn to blush. “Well, I wouldn't put it like _that_. I mean... not completely...”

“Oh, show us please!” Jenny continued to beg, her excitement threatening to overwhelm her. Vastra nodded.

Amy and Clara exchanged indecisive glances before Amy finally threw her hands up. “Oh, what the hell,” she said.

Clara watched with a mixture of excited anticipation and disbelief as Amy stood up and began to disrobe, first removing her dressing gown, letting it fall to the floor, and then quickly stripping off her pyjama top and bottoms. She was naked within ten seconds.

The eyes of all three other women in the imaginary room were upon her, and Jenny gasped as she looked first to the thin strip of fine hair on Amy's otherwise smooth mound, its hue a fraction lighter than the hair on her head, the short curls confined to just above her cleft.

Jenny's gaze didn't leave the sight for a good ten seconds, and when her eyes met Amy's they saw a look of amusement on the Scottish woman's face. “Yep, I'm a _girl_ ,” she said, making Jenny blush. “Like what you see?”

Jenny nodded furiously. She looked up and down the tall woman's exposed body, noting her pale, lightly-freckled skin and pert breasts. She could not prevent her attention from returning to the woman's mound; there was something about the exposed slit that was more titillating than anything she had ever dared to imagine. 

Clara had been gawking at the woman as much as Jenny. It struck her just how beautiful Amy was without even a scrap of make-up, and her nakedness accentuated her beauty. She cut an impressive figure, and Clara registered her full height for the first time. 5' 10”? 5' 11”? She recalled the Doctor mentioning that Amy had been a fairly well-known model — she herself had been unfamiliar with her work, but a quick internet search had revealed Amy to have created a range of perfume bizarrely named after the smell of wet dust — and at this moment she didn't find it hard to believe. Although Clara identified as a straight woman, the sight before her was strangely arousing.

“Stunning...” Vastra declared. “Yours is an excellent example of the human female form.” 

“Thank you,” Amy replied. “I'm interested to see what you look like under that dress...?”

Vastra smiled. “As you wish.”

Clara had to admit she was curious herself, and as Vastra began to undress she found it impossible to avert her gaze, her eyes following each stage of the reveal with fervent anticipation. Amy too was staring intently at the lizard woman as each item of her clothing landed at her feet. There was a confident sensuality and a fluidity to her movement that was undeniably sexy, and when Clara looked upon her she saw simply a devastatingly attractive woman, any difference in her aspect largely forgotten. Eventually, her true form exposed, Vastra stood proudly before the three human women.

Her scales covered her entire body, much as Clara had expected, but unlike that of a human woman, Vastra's body lacked any further definition. Her breasts — or whatever they were — lacked nipples, and appeared far smaller than Vastra's usual apparel would suggest; apparently she wore some sort of discrete padding under her clothes to accentuate them. They looked to Clara to be more akin to small camel humps. The scales of her torso were of a lighter shade of green than the rest of her body, and her arms and legs were more reptilian than Clara had imagined, with knee and elbow joints that divided them more clearly into sections. She noted the absence of a navel or any kind of pudendal cleft.

Vastra walked slowly toward Jenny, giving the women a view of her back. In place of a human backbone was a jagged spine that resembled the prominent ridge in the middle of her head. This tapered into the vestige of a tail, which rather than extending from her body, blended in with her posterior. Clara noted that, while clearly divided into two buttocks, the division was less prominent than in humans, and the lack of any front slit indicated a single cloacal orifice. Clara smiled at the thought of the look on her old biology teacher Mr. Weaver's face if he could see the kind of practical experimentation she was indulging in now. 

Amy approached Vastra and Jenny, who were caressing each other lovingly, Jenny seeming to be carefully avoiding her lover's breasts. Vastra gave her an inviting look, beckoning her to come closer and partake. With a smile, Amy accepted the invitation, moving in and reaching out instinctively to fondle Vastra, placing her hand on the lizard woman's left breast. 

“I'd stay away from those if I were you,” Jenny warned.

“Why?” Amy asked, addressing Vastra. “Are your boobs, like, ultra-sensitive or something?” 

“These are not breasts,” Vastra informed her, casually.

Amy froze, meeting Vastra's eye, her hand still in place. “What are they?”

“They are venom sacs.”

Amy leaped backwards with a yelp, her arm retracting like a coiled spring as Clara too recoiled, Jenny laughing at them both. 

“Don't worry, I was only joking,” Jenny grinned. “You can't actually get hurt.”

“If I so wish, the venom is deployed within a bite,” Vastra explained. “Fortunately, I do not wish to incapacitate you; far from it.”

“Besides,” Jenny continued, “this isn't real, remember?”

Amy nodded. She _had_ almost forgotten that fact. “Oh right, yeah.” She looked Vastra and Jenny up and down. “This is all a bit weird isn't it.”

“Not for us, we're used to it!” Jenny replied. 

“Indeed,” Vastra said, “and now that we three are in a state of undress, there is still one who has yet to indulge us.”

A lascivious smirk spread across Amy's features. “Oh, yeah...” She turned slowly to regard Clara, who had been keeping her distance, watching the scene before her with increasing bewilderment and faintly-disguised arousal. Her eyes widened, and a short sigh escaped her lips. 

“Oh...” she said, her voice filled with weary resignation.

“Come on, it's only a laugh,” Amy grinned as she began edging toward her new friend.

Clara had been perching on the edge of the conference table, but she now leapt to her feet and began to back away from Amy's advance. “I don't think so.”

“Spoilsport!” Amy declared. “You're the only one here who's not in her birthday suit. Do you want to be left out?”

“I'm fine, thank you,” Clara replied, her cheeks turning scarlet once again.

“Have you ever gone all the way with a woman?” Amy enquired.

Clara opened her mouth to reply, but all that emerged was a short gasp. She swallowed. “No.”

“Well, there's a first time for everything,” Amy stated, with a mischievous glint in her eye.

As the flame-haired siren advanced upon her, Clara backed away further... into an unexpected wall. She let out a yelp, and turned to regard it curiously. “I swear that wasn't there before...?”

“No, I just put it there,” Amy replied. “I think I'm getting the hang of this place.”

Clara frowned at her. “Thanks,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.“You're married. To a man.”

Amy's expression darkened, her eyes growing cold. “Not anymore.”

Clara resisted the urge to pry, for this wasn't exactly the time, and tried a different tack. “You know, two can play at this game. I could imagine a trap door right beneath your feet! And make you fall into a... a swimming pool! Yeah...” 

Amy replied with an exaggerated pout. “That's not very nice...”

Clara continued without pause. “But then, your legs are about as long as two grown men; you could probably just wiggle them and propel yourself through the water like a speedboat.” Amy glowered at her in mock annoyance, but couldn't maintain the expression for long, breaking into a smile in spite of herself. “How about... a fiery chasm. Have you ever seen a fiery chasm? 'Cause let me tell you they are not pretty! You wouldn't survive it. They say if you die in a dream, you die in real life, and then who'd be _smirking_?!”

Clara's protest had been babbled at a rate of knots, her tongue only half in her cheek. Amy had reached her now, and the Scot placed two hands on the wall either side of the brunette, holding her captive. “But you're not that cruel,” she said, her tone undeniably sultry. Without warning or further preamble, she leaned toward her new friend and planted a soft, tender kiss on her lips. Clara's initial instinct was to fight it, but this gave way almost immediately to a relaxed feeling of enjoyment that took her very much by surprise. She had not kissed another girl since...

“Oh my Goddess!” 

The exclamation had come from Vastra, Clara realised, but the lizard woman's voice had seemed to come from far away in the darkness; she had closed her eyes without realising it, and had melted into Amy's arms. The willowy redhead towered over her, and she angled her head upward to take in the kiss. As Amy's lips left hers and travelled along her cheek, the redhead beginning to nibble her earlobe, Clara felt a hand on her hip which then moved down to caress her inner thigh through the soft fabric of her tights.

Clara opened her eyes and pushed Amy away with one hand on her chest. She shook her head breathlessly. “Too fast.”

“Aww,” Amy said, and took Clara's hand in her own, before guiding it over her left breast. “We'll go slow, then.”

Clara couldn't speak, couldn't move. Her senses were overpowered by the sheer enormity of what was happening to her. The only physical sensations of which she was aware were her own heartbeat and the tips of her fingers running over Amy's hardened nipple. Her hand seemed to be moving of its own accord, and her focus switched rapidly between it and the woman's face, itself displaying her new friend's increasing arousal. “Is this really happening?” she asked. “Like, actually, properly happening?”

Clara's voice was light and airy, and her complexion pale; she seemed to Amy to be in a state of shock. “Actually, properly happening,” Amy replied with a chuckle. “Sort of...”

“Just checking,” Clara breathed. 

Vastra and Jenny were watching the scene intently, but Amy was only vaguely aware of them; her eyes were only for Clara. She caressed the petite brunette's cheek softly with her knuckles, drawing a deep breath and taking in the lovely scent of her perfume. Feeling almost intoxicated, Amy leaned in close and whispered into the woman's ear. “Will you let me undress you?”

Clara faltered indecisively for a moment, then nodded, her expression unchanging. 

Jenny held her wife tightly as she beheld the sight; Clara closed her eyes as Amy reached behind her back and slowly unzipped her cute little dress. The redhead then slid her hands down over the young woman's figure until she reached the hem, and lifted the garment up above her head, Clara lifting her arms aloft. Now clad only in her bra, tights and briefs, she began to moan softly as she felt Amy's soft lips planting small kisses along her neck and collarbone. Amy's hands reached around her back once again and unhooked her bra before moving upward to her shoulders, never leaving her skin. 

Amy hooked her thumbs under Clara's bra straps and pulled them down over her arms, divesting her of the item. Amy's eyes wandered to the woman's breasts, impressive globes which hung tantalisingly and accommodated her cute little oval-shaped nipples.

Amy wanted to touch them, to caress and lick them and make them hers, but the aching need to deprive the woman of her remaining undergarments was overpowering. She dropped to her knees, running her hand slowly over Clara's toned stomach, over her belly button and down to the waistband of her tights, which she then pulled down and off slowly. All that remained now was the pair of black lace and satin briefs that hid the last vestige of the young woman's modesty. Amy slipped her index fingers into the hem of Clara's panties and pulled them down without further ado.

The scent that rose from Clara was musky and sweet, and Amy smiled libidinously at the sight of the smooth mound — save for a tiny strip of fine dark hair — that greeted her, the woman's arousal plain to see. Amy brushed her knuckles lightly against the soft skin, traced her finger up and down Clara's slit, and parted the woman's labia between thumb and forefinger. This elicited a shocked gasp from Clara, who now opened her eyes. She took a sharp intake of breath, and averted her gaze from Amy, who knelt before her. Instinctively, she covered herself, concealing her breasts with one arm, suddenly self-conscious. Nevertheless, she stepped out of her knickers, which had come to rest around her ankles, and didn't object to Amy leaning in closer to her and burying her face in her most intimate area. The warm, wet tongue brushed over her clitoris, and Clara was unable to suppress a sharp vocalised gasp, followed by a low moan.

Amy felt Clara's hands on her shoulders, as the woman leaned on her for support. Amy had no experience in pleasuring another woman like this, but she prided herself on being a quick learner and having good instincts; she knew what _she_ liked, and was willing to bet that she could do a better job than most of the men she had ever been with. If Clara's moans and gasps were anything to go by, it was a pretty safe bet. 

Clara's flesh tingled, and her knees began to weaken as a familiar warm glow began to permeate her being. She had a way to go yet before the feelings would overwhelm her, but right now Amy was definitely on the right track. One thing was for sure though; she couldn't remain standing for too much longer. “Stop,” she gasped, looking down at her welcome assailant and squeezing her left shoulder. The woman obeyed, pulling her head away and meeting her gaze. Clara was momentarily mesmerised by the sight of her own juices dripping from Amy's mouth. 

“Too much?” Amy asked with apparently genuine concern, her earlier bravado having disappeared.

Clara shook her head, not entirely truthfully. “Just need to lie down,” she admitted, “I think the imaginary champagne must have gone to my head.” She felt light-headed and distant, the world she now inhabited seeming even more unreal than it had before. She felt herself begin to sink into the wall, the hard surface gradually growing softer as if acquiescing to her request, drawing her body into its warm embrace. She began to merge into what felt like a comfortable mattress as the room started to spin. 

What was happening? Amy felt distinctly queasy as the room seemed to reorient, and she kept her focus on Clara. She realised that Clara's desire to lie down was shaping this reality; the entire dream-scape was changing to suit her — their — need. As her equilibrium restored, she became aware that she now lay on top of Clara, their bodies entwined atop a large four-poster bed. 

Neither woman could speak, their senses momentarily overloaded. They became aware of Vastra and Jenny making their way to the bed and joining them, and Amy now noticed that the entire room had changed into what she guessed was probably a representation of the couple's own bedroom. Its sumptuous décor spoke of Vastra's elegant taste. The bed itself sat in the centre of the room, while a mahogany wardrobe stood against one wall. On the other side of the room sat a dressing table comprised of a three-drawer pedestal and two turned table legs, upon which sat an ornate vanity mirror. A cast-iron fireplace faced the foot of the bed, the heat and light emanating from its crackling embers complimented by the chandelier that hung from the ceiling above them. “We welcome you to our bed,” Vastra said with a smile, confirming Amy's supposition.

“Comfy,” Clara said, her voice breathy.

“Why, thank you,” Vastra replied. “This is, for all intents and purposes, our home, and we wish to make your stay as pleasurable as possible.” She winked at the women.

Amy blushed, and her intended witticism was prevented by the sudden realisation that Clara's legs were now entwined with her own, positioned perfectly so that their upper thighs rubbed against each other's sex, and that the brunette had angled her leg in order to grind her thigh into Amy's vulva. A sharp shock coursed through Amy's body, and she gasped as she took in the mischievous look on Clara's face as Vastra began stroking her right arm with her scaled hands. Jenny in turn had begun to caress Clara's beautiful skin lovingly.

Clara pulled Amy's head down towards her face with both hands and kissed her once more, all the while thrusting her hips upward, controlling the speed, strength and power of the motion. Their breasts touched as Clara began to run her hands over Amy's body, being careful not to scratch her skin with the sentimental ring and bracelets she still wore on her right hand. The redhead was much taller than she, and Clara's arms would stretch only to her lower back, but Amy's arms were long enough to reach far enough to pleasure her quite adequately, and Clara felt Amy's fingers move between her folds and find their way to her aching centre.

Clara's high-pitched reaction — somewhere between a moan and a gasp — brought a smile of delight to Amy's face. She found the woman's engorged clit, and began to stroke it gently in an undulating motion, soft but fast, as Vastra and Jenny continued to run their hands over Clara's form. Gradually she applied more pressure and increased speed, feeling Clara's legs writhing beneath her as the woman gripped tightly at the bedclothes, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Their skin glistened in the low light, owing to the sheen of perspiration that coated them both. Amy's fingers wandered up and down, further exploring Clara's grasping, soaked entrance; she dared to insert two fingers just inside her, angling them upward. 

Clara's orgasm hit her like a lightening bolt from heaven. She surrendered to it, losing herself as the sensation began at the top of her head and the tips of her toes and met at the core of her being. 

Amy held her new friend dearly as she convulsed beneath her, her own weight being the only thing stopping Clara from writhing uncontrollably as her eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth hung open, frozen in a perfect picture of beautiful ecstasy. Clara's joy was silent for a moment as the pleasure reached a crescendo, then her release intensified and she cried out at the top of her lungs, a wordless expression of pure tangible bliss. 

Jenny watched enraptured as the impossible girl came and came, gushing and bathing Amy's hand with her moisture. 

Amy's own feelings of arousal were intensified tenfold, and she felt on the verge of coming herself. She denied the feeling, wanting to last as long as possible before letting go. 

Clara's gasping moans subsided, and as her breath began to steady she let out a giggle. “That was... really nice,” she breathed. Her hair was tousled now, her fringe matted to her forehead, and the sweat dripped off her slender frame.

Jenny laughed too. “I don't know what to say!” she gasped, a note of incredulity in her voice.

“It was nice for _us_ too!” Vastra chuckled.

Amy shook her head in disbelief, her heart pounding. “I really felt that with you.”

Clara looked her in the eye, taking her hand and interlocking her fingers with Amy's. She planted a small kiss on it. “Not enough though?”

Amy smiled warmly as she gazed into Clara's eyes. “I won't be far behind you, trust me.”

“And on that note...” Vastra said, and she beckoned Amy towards her. 

Amy climbed off Clara, leaving the woman with a look of flushed contentment on her face, and lay down on her side between Clara and Jenny, propping herself up on one elbow. Vastra was on Jenny's other side, mirroring Amy's position, the bed just large enough to accommodate the quartet. Vastra's piercing gaze reached into Amy's soul, and Amy found herself almost mesmerised by her. The green woman was stroking her hand up and down Jenny's arm, caressing the young lady contentedly. When her hand reached Jenny's, Vastra took it and guided her wife to Amy's breast.

Amy didn't object to Jenny's touch, the tips of her fingers breezing lightly over her nipple. After a few moments Vastra let go of Jenny's hand, her guidance no longer required, and Jenny continued to explore Amy's curves, delighting in feeling Amy respond to her touch and seeing the tiny goosebumps on her skin. 

Amy noticed Vastra and Jenny share a subtle look, an almost imperceptible communication that seemed to give Jenny permission to proceed further. At her wife's behest she rolled into Amy's welcoming arms, the foursome shuffling and rearranging themselves on the bed to allow for the birthday girl to mount the flame-haired beauty. Amy had to admit to a certain nervousness; she had blindly taken charge with Clara, and allowed her sheer bravado to guide her. Clara's own inexperience at this was also a plus. Now she was the lesser experienced, and she worried that Jenny would sense her discomfort.

Jenny brushed a stray lock of deep red hair from Amy's face and flashed her a reassuring smile. “Don't worry,” she said. “I'll take you through it.”

Amy let out a short breath, but relaxed a little as Jenny's hands lovingly made their way around her body, caressing her cheeks, ears, neck and breasts, alighting nerve endings effortlessly and increasing her arousal. Jenny explored her with her mouth, kissing her way down her body, eliciting small gasps and giggles. Delicately, Jenny planted small kisses around each inner thigh, and Amy let out a plaintive cry of anticipation as she ventured closer to her sex. Jenny seemed to delight in her exploration of Amy's womanhood, licking and sucking her way around before inserting one index finger into her. Her eyes lifted from the feast only to seek approval to continue in this vein, adding a second finger upon Amy's silent encouragement. All the while her tongue worked its magic. 

Clara watched with wide-eyed wonder, touching herself lightly as Amy bucked her hips and pulled Jenny's head deeper between her legs. She made eye-contact with Vastra, who motioned for her to touch Amy's shivering form. Between them they began to stroke Amy's breasts, taking one each as Jenny continued her ministrations. 

As Vastra stroked and flicked Amy's left nipple, Clara took the right one in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the areola before biting and suckling on it like a newborn. Amy's skin had flushed almost as red as her hair; she was close, Clara could feel it.

“Oh God,” Amy moaned, as she arced her back off the bed, the climax beginning to overtake her senses. She let out an involuntary moan as she came, her body trembling at first, then shuddering in spasms that grew more intense, building into paroxysms of pleasure. She let out a sharp vocalised gasp, a single wordless expression of euphoria. The room seemed to spin, and as the feeling permeated her being she saw, in a flash, Rory's face. 

Amy's face was lit just so to highlight the planes of her cheeks and the full curve of her lips. Clara fixated on her, watching the incredible trembling of her muscles as the climax continued to overwhelm her, and it took her a few moments to become aware that the woman's orgasmic cry had turned into a sob. Tears began to stream down Amy's cheeks, and she clasped her hand to her face. 

“Amy? What's wrong?” Jenny asked, her voice filled with almost motherly concern.

Amy sniffled as the intense feeling subsided, failing to take her pain along with it. She wiped her tears from her cheeks and caught her breath. “Sorry,” she said finally. 

“Don't be sorry,” Jenny implored her, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. “Tell me what's wrong.”

Vastra knew. She had seen Amy's devotion to Rory back on Demon's Run, and whatever had happened between them recently had to have taken its toll on her. She had not considered when instigating this madness the enormity of what she was asking of Amy, but when she thought of him now, the Last Centurion, for the first time since this escapade began she gave thought to Amy's feelings for him. She knew that Rory had waited two-thousand years to keep her safe, and how much he had risked to save her from Kovarian, and she cursed herself for encouraging the young woman to be unfaithful to him in the first place. 

Clara too had a pretty good idea of what Amy was feeling, despite barely knowing her; she liked to count perceptiveness as one of her strengths. Her concern for Amy was expressed by an almost involuntary gesture of gently stroking her new friend's hair. “It's OK,” she said soothingly. “Do you want to stop?”

Amy stared up at the chandelier, avoiding everyone's gaze. After a moment, she spoke quietly. “I... I don't know.” She breathed deeply. “I don't know what I want.” She had given up Rory for his own good, screaming at him to leave their home before the full horror of what she had done had struck her. Why? Why had she really done it? Fear? Inadequacy? Guilt?

Or all of the above?

She still felt violated. It had all been so easy; they had taken her and replaced her with a duplicate avatar so convincing that even her husband had been fooled — as if she were some kind of cheap doll that could be manufactured en masse — and used her as a puppet in an attempt to kill her best friend. She felt worthless, her whole existence trivialised. She had lost one child, their beautiful little girl, and now whatever they had done to her had apparently left her infertile, and therefore incapable of giving Rory any more. He had wanted so much to try to move on from their ordeal, to attempt to forge a deeper relationship with the River they knew, and to one day have another child, but she had refused and pushed him away, all the while harbouring the secret of her infertility. He could never understand. His voice level, he had accused her of being unwilling to commit to their future together, of preferring to wait around for the Doctor to keep coming back for her, and had stated in the heat of the moment that she cared more for the Time Lord and her adventurous life with him than than she did for their marriage. _“I'm just not good enough for you, is that it?”_ he had said. 

In fact, the truth was quite the reverse; she was weak, she had failed him and he was better off without her. That had been when she had lost her temper, his characteristically mild outburst giving her the pretence to push him away further, rationalising it to herself as being cruel to be kind. The argument had escalated until she had screamed at him and thrown a china plate roughly in his direction, not intending to actually hit him of course, her misplaced anger causing him to march upstairs and pack his belongings. A small part of her had felt relieved for him then, safe in the knowledge that he would one day find someone else, someone who could give him a child to raise and love, while she herself would die a sad and lonely old woman, as it was meant to be. 

He deserved that someone. Someone he could love without complications, who wouldn't fail him as a wife, a mother or as a woman. Someone who wasn't a murderess would also be a plus.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of being kissed and touched adoringly, and she became aware of the three women who were working tirelessly to make her feel loved. Clara's soft lips were making their way along her stomach while her nimble fingers were caressing the underside of her breast. Jenny was planting kisses along her arm, while Vastra's tongue had extended to the inner thigh of her right leg. At first her instinct was to resist, to demand that they stop, that she wasn't worth their time, but the will to fight had deserted her. Her resolve buckled and she gave in.

“Amy,” Jenny said softly, “relax. Close your eyes.”

She did so, and allowed herself to be carried away on a cloud of ecstasy as Clara's fingers worked her sex rapidly, Jenny's mouth latched onto her nipple, suckling like a newborn, and Vastra's roving tongue explored her whole body, her fingers caressing the dip of soft skin between Amy's hip bone and pubic mound. Clara's hand was making short work of Amy's clitoris, moving so fast it was almost a blur, and it didn't take long before she climaxed again. It felt more like an implosion this time, her spasms and convulsions accompanied by ecstatic cries halfway between pleasure and pain. 

Amy's head was spinning, and as the sensation subsided, she thought she heard Vastra whisper her name reverently. “Amelia...”

She just about heard Clara's voice, and the smile within it. “I think my hand just died, but it was totally worth it.”

Clara licked her fingers, then flexed them, clenching and unclenching her fist and shaking her numb hand. This was an experience like nothing she had felt before. Making love to another woman was a strange yet deeply satisfying sensation, let alone to three other women, one of whom wasn't even human. Physically, sexually, Vastra was an enigma; she appeared to have no discernible sexual organs and Clara didn't know where to even begin with her. It seemed that her relationship with Jenny could only be a little one-sided in the bedroom department — she suddenly understood why Vastra had wanted this gift for her. As far as she, Jenny and Amy were concerned however, they were getting to know one another's bodies, and this was turning out to be a highly charged and fulfilling experience. 

Being naked and entwined with another woman though, feeling her body heat and breathing with her was certainly... new. She straddled Jenny now, settling into the cowgirl position and grasping and kneading her breasts. It felt strange to be in a sexual position she knew so well with a partner who lacked a certain appendage between her legs. “Ah... that doesn't quite work,” she realised.

“Not really,” Jenny replied, shaking her head with a smile. “Hold on.”

Clara noticed Amy's lips curl into a smile — a pleasing sight — as Jenny gestured for her to allow her to move. Clara acquiesced, and the young Victorian shifted on the bed and sat up, before indicating her intention to interlock her legs with Clara's. Clara's heart skipped a beat as she realised what they were about to do. Wrapping their arms around each other, they each could feel the other's desire, Clara holding onto Jenny for dear life as the woman pressed her sex against hers. The feeling was indescribable, and tears formed in her eyes as she rubbed against Jenny, taken aback by the steep incline of her arousal. 

It didn't take long for the experience to overwhelm Clara, and as she melted into it she took Jenny along with her. Their involuntary moans and gasps filled the air and in a moment, as the blissful excitation reached its crescendo, Jenny was aware of nothing but the fact of her own existence. 

A short time later, the quartet lay in each other's arms, sated. 

“Now what?” Amy asked, her voice low and heavy with exhaustion.

“We could braid each other's hair?” Clara dead-panned.

Jenny chuckled softly. “Sham pain!” she exclaimed quietly, finally understanding Amy's earlier quip, and tutted at her friend.

Amy was in no mood to react. She had lost herself in the experience, and now that it was over she dreaded the thought of returning to her life. 

“Will you be OK?” Clara said softly into Amy's ear as if reading her mind.

Amy forced a smile, and kissed Clara softly on the forehead. “Yeah,” she lied. 

Clara tilted her head sympathetically, and her lips met Amy's before she knew what was happening. The kiss was sweet, tender and filled with caring sentiment. Amy responded in kind.

“Well,” Vastra proclaimed, “I hope that you enjoyed your day, Jenny?” She winked, knowing the answer as her beloved inclined her head to meet her gaze. Jenny nodded back, a look of utter contentment brightening her features.

Jenny had experienced something truly wonderful, and she was proud to count two such wonderful women among her closest friends, but in this moment as she gazed upon her soul mate, she had never loved her more.

Amy could feel herself slipping away, on the verge of falling asleep. She fought it as Clara blearily voiced the question she herself was unwilling to ask.

“What will happen to us when we fall asleep?” Through a yawn she added; “Will we go back?” The thought struck her that she was still fully-clothed in the waking world, which would probably require a shower and a change of underwear, and she hoped to goodness that she hadn't been making too much noise.

Vastra nodded. “Yes. As you pass into a deeper stage of unconsciousness, your mind will no longer be able to maintain your presence here; you will sleep, and when you awaken you will do so in your own bed, in your own time.” There was a pause before Vastra continued, lowering her voice to a near-whisper. “It seems we are losing Miss Pond already.”

Clara's arm was draped over Amy's torso, and she had thus far felt her body heat and the rise and fall of her chest, had been soothed by the sound of her rhythmic breathing. Now the woman's breathing was slowing, and the warmth of her skin growing colder. Clara's eyes had grown heavy, but she forced them open just in time to see Amy's now sleeping form become translucent, and gradually fade away. Her own arm fell softly onto the bed sheet where her new friend had lain, her absence keenly felt. Clara allowed her eyes to close once more, knowing that she would be next.

Vastra and Jenny watched the young woman fade and pass out of this world. They snuggled into each other's loving arms, and returned to reality.

* * * *

Clara Oswald chose not to reveal her experience to the Doctor of course. The memory of her time in the dream-scape faded gradually into that of any other dream, albeit a particularly vivid one. She remembered the impression of it; the emotion. She would still get a tingle when she thought of it, and smile to herself contentedly.

She never saw her again, never even learned her last name, but Amelia Pond never forgot the woman to whom she had given herself so freely. Not quite _all_ of herself of course, for there was still that part of her soul that was reserved for Rory, and their reconciliation on the Dalek Asylum made her complete once more, and brought joy to her heart. That mountainous, snow-capped wasteland was also the site of an encounter between Amy and a mysterious young woman with an eerily familiar voice; a girl in a shipwreck who had come to her final resting place.

Amy never saw her face.

To these women, the life and times of the strange lizard woman and her beautiful assistant were undeservedly a footnote in history, but to those who walk in eternity, somewhere in the mists of time, the adventures of Madame Vastra and Jenny Flint — and their faithful henchman Strax — continue.  


* * * *


End file.
